


Oh, To Belong To Someone

by RushingHeadlong



Category: Queen (Band), Smile (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Smile (Band) Era, Unrequited Love, mentions of smoking weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28121787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RushingHeadlong/pseuds/RushingHeadlong
Summary: It was Brian that was the most important to him.Always, only Brian.
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor (background/implied), Brian May/Tim Staffell (onesided)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	Oh, To Belong To Someone

**Author's Note:**

> Still riding that Smile train… Don’t know what to say about this one except sometimes you just need to word-vomit 4k worth of feels and projection into a fic and call it a day.
> 
> If you’re here for the Maylor please know that it is minor and only implied and this is mainly Tim-centric. Hopefully that’s obvious from the tags, but in case it isn’t consider this your warning!
> 
> Tim's song referenced in the fic is “Alone”, which he later recorded with Morgan for their first album. The title is from the same song.

The first time Tim hears Brian play he decides then and there that he'll do whatever it takes to perform with the guitarist himself.

Later, much later, he'll learn to give coy answers to journalists when asked about that first meeting. He'll say that it was 1984 as a whole that caught his attention, and that the band were the ones who approached him. He'll name other boys from Hampton Grammar School as better guitarists, and imply that he only ever cared about the music itself. And it’ll all be lies.

Because it was Brian that was the most important to him.

Always, only _Brian_.  
  


* * *

  
“I don’t know if it’s really finished yet but it’s playable, at least,” Brian says as he hands the guitar over so Tim can take a look at it.

It’s more than just “playable”. Tim’s heard what that guitar can do in Brian’s hands and he can’t think of anything that could be changed to make it more spectacular than it already is. It’s a thing of beauty, and not just for its one-of-a-kind sound; the red and black body with the white trim is a striking combination and Tim is a little scared of even getting a single _fingerprint_ on it.

Brian is talking about how it was made, the materials used and the unique features it has and the maths that went into making it all work, as Tim settles the guitar into position and wraps his hand around the surprisingly thick neck.

“Yeah I, uh, I made a mistake on that. Forgot to include the width from the fingerboard when I carved the neck,” Brian admits sheepishly as Tim comments on the size of it. “But I like it, so I didn’t fix it.”

“If you like it, it’s not a mistake then,” Tim says as he plucks out a few notes. The guitar doesn’t sing in his hands like it does for Brian; it’s an instrument that’s truly made for one person to play.

Brian shrugs. “I suppose,” he says, a small flush blooming across his cheekbones. “Anyway, my dad says it needs a name but I dunno about that. He wants to call it the ‘Brian May Special’ but…”

Tim makes a face at the name and Brian laughs. “Yeah, that’s how I feel about it too.”

The guitar _is_ special, Tim won’t deny that, and whatever name it gets needs to match that. “You’ll think of something eventually, I’m sure,” Tim says as he hands the instrument back over.

Brian strokes one hand gently down the face of the guitar. “I suppose,” he says again, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and the blush on his face doesn’t quite fade.

It’s an image that, for some reason, Tim can’t get out of his mind, even long after he says goodbye to Brian and his guitar for the evening.  
  


* * *

  
They start writing songs together - or rather, Brian writes songs and Tim scrambles to keep up, but even that is more than what most of 1984 is doing.

Tim is still finding himself as a musician, as a songwriter, and his first attempts at songs are frustratingly imperfect. He writes something and scraps it, and writes something else and scraps that too, until Brian drags him away from his notebook to listen to one of his father’s old records - or a new Jimi album, when they can get their hands on one.

Tim gets used to Brian showing him his songs before anyone else sees them, and he gets used to bringing Brian his finished lyrics and a few bits of music and having the other boy help him fill in the missing pieces. He gets used to Brian’s bright grin when Tim sings his songs and makes them come to life, and he gets used to the softer smile that Brian reserves for the quiet moments when they’re alone - when Brian is lying on his floor while they listen to records and talk astronomy, or when he’s sitting on Tim’s bed as he laughs at Tim’s stupid jokes instead of finishing up his schoolwork, nevermind that his father will scold him for neglecting his studies when he gets home.

With Brian leaving for uni soon Tim isn’t surprised when Brian announces that he’s quitting the band - but he’s gotten used to performing with Brian, is the thing, and without him to play with Tim knows that his own days in 1984 are numbered.

In the end, he lasts eight more months with the band. And he spends every single day of those eight months missing Brian with a fierceness that never really goes away.  
  


* * *

  
Tim starts to figure himself out before he even leaves for art college. He likes girls - likes ‘em a _lot_ , if he’s being honest - but that’s the simple part of this. He may be more bohemian than most of his friends but it’s still no mean feat to accept that he might like boys as well.

Girls are easy to approach. He knows how to make them blush with compliments and smooth flirting, knows how to take them dancing and how to hook up with them in the backs of cars and in dark corners of the park late in the evening. But boys are harder, and Tim has no idea what to do about the ones that catch his eye, that make his stomach his flutter when they laugh, that leave him waking up with a mess in his shorts from dreams that he’s too scared to really let himself think about.

It takes time, and the sort of introspection that Tim has never particularly good at, for him to accept that it’s not just girls who catch his fancy - and then he sets that realization firmly aside, deciding that it’s a problem for him to worry about when he’s brave enough to actually consider trying something with another boy.

But then he goes to London and meets up with Brian again, and at the first sight of his friend - with his half-unbuttoned shirt and his hair now brushed out in a halo around his head and the grin that seems brighter than Tim ever remembered it being - Tim’s mouth goes dry with want.

And he immediately knows that he’s not going to be able to ignore the things that he now knows about himself after all.  
  


* * *

  
“We should form a new band,” Tim says.

It takes hardly any convincing for Brian to agree. He’s still working on his doctorate but now that he’s away from his parents’ influence Tim can see a difference in him. He’s more serious about his music, more discerning in what he looks for in a band, but he still smiles when Tim offers up his vocal talents and says, “Good. I wouldn’t want any other lead singer anyway.”

Brian says it easily, without hesitation, and Tim feels himself flush all over at even that tiniest bit of praise. He’s always thrived off of Brian’s admiration but now every compliment and scrap of approval lights him up from the inside out. He writes song after song, bringing them to Brian like a dog begging for affection, and when he gets it right and Brian’s eyes shine with excitement over something _he_ wrote Tim is so happy that if he had a tail he knows it would be wagging uncontrollably.

It’s a pathetic sort of infatuation, Tim knows that, but he can’t help it. He wants to please Brian, wants to make him happy, wants to give him the moon and the stars and everything under the sun - but all he has to offer him is his music and his too-eager love, and it doesn’t feel like that will ever really be enough.

But sometimes… Sometimes Brian will wrap an arm around Tim’s shoulders, or offer him a soft smile, or bring him a piece of music and ask him to write lyrics to it, and Tim wonders if maybe, _maybe_ , he might be enough for Brian after all.  
  


* * *

  
Roger Taylor comes in like a whirlwind, upending everything Tim and Brian thought they knew about drummers and blowing them away with his voice and his talents. Tim, privately, thinks that they might not need his friend Chris from Ealing to round out the band after all. Tim, publicly, joins Brian in welcoming Roger into the band with open arms and without hesitation.

Roger is loud and a little unpredictable at times, but he’s bright and serious about his music and he fits perfectly between Brian and Tim. He pulls Brian out of the shell that he sometimes retreats into, and even if he’s not as much of a partier as Tim himself is he still knows how to have a good time. His music is new and different from what Brian and Tim have written, and there’s no denying that the new blood may be just what it takes to propel Smile to heights that 1984 never could have dreamed of reaching.

The only problem is that Tim doesn’t want anyone _between_ him and Brian. He’s gotten so used to it always being the two of them, operating on a level separate from most of their peers, that adding a third person to their bubble suddenly makes things feel a little crowded.

It’s not that Tim is _jealous_ \- how can he be jealous, when Brian isn’t even _his_ anyway? - but sometimes he catches a glimpse of _something_ in Brian’s eyes when he looks at the drummer, and Tim worries that they might all be heading for trouble here.  
  


* * *

  
A particularly rough bump in the road wakes Tim from his sleep. He groans in protest and shifts in his seat in the van, and an arm catches him around the shoulders and pulls him close against a warm body. It’s Brian, Tim can tell that even without opening his eyes, and he sighs softly and burrows a little closer to him.

“Can you drive a little more carefully?” Brian asks in a low undertone. “He’s pretty wiped out from finishing up that project for his art course.”

Tim’s also a little high, having stolen a few hits off someone’s joint after the show, and that has a lot more to do with why he’s nearly passed out right now than his recent sleepless nights working on schoolwork. He knows Brian must be able to smell the weed on him, but that doesn’t stop the guitarist from holding Tim close against his side, and Tim relishes how perfectly he fits tucked up against Brian like this in a way that he never could get away with if he was awake and sober.

“I can try, but the roads aren’t great around here,” Roger replies, just as quietly.

It’s just the three of them in the van tonight and maybe it’s that privacy, and Tim seemingly being asleep, that gives Roger the courage to eventually ask, “How long have you known Tim, then?”

“Few years now,” Brian tells him. “Why?”

“Well it’s just… I mean, are you two…?”

“Ah. No, no, it’s not like that,” Brian says. “Just friends.”

Tim’s buzz dulls the blow that those words would have otherwise delivered. It takes him a moment to register what Roger was asking and what Brian’s response meant, and by the time the sting starts to set in the conversation is already continuing, and Tim gets distracted from his hurt by Roger asking, “And are you…?”

“Am I what?”

There’s the flick of a lighter, and a rush of cold air as Roger rolls down the window so the smoke doesn’t bother Brian. “Y’know.”

“Does it matter if I am?” Brian says.

Roger exhales, and then he says, “No. Not to me, it doesn’t.”

Tim is just high enough that Brian’s answer and Roger’s response don’t make much sense to him at the time - but he’s not high enough to forget about the conversation entirely when he sobers up.

He realizes, eventually, that Roger never asked if Tim was _y’know_ as well. And when Roger _never_ asks Tim that question, he wonders if maybe Roger doesn’t need to know his answer like he needed to know Brian’s.  
  


* * *

  
Maybe it would be easier if he could hate Roger, but he doesn’t.

He’s not just good for the band, he’s a good friend too. Tim _likes_ Roger - though obviously he doesn’t like him in the same way that he likes Brian. But he likes hanging out with Roger just as much as he likes performing with him, and that only makes Tim feel like shit every time his stomach twists when Roger gets attention from Brian and he doesn’t.

Maybe it would be easier if they had just never found Roger and never brought him into the band, but deep down Tim knows that that’s not true.

Tim keeps thinking about how easily Brian had said that they were _just friends_ , and Tim doesn’t know that that would be different if Roger wasn’t in the picture at all. He doesn’t know if the quiet moments he’s shared with Brian over the years can be added up to make anything more than what they appear to be on the surface, and even worse is the fact that Tim doesn’t know if they’d still be friends at all at this point if it wasn't for Smile. Brian’s doctorate work is taking him away from London for longer stretches of time, and his circle of friends is growing so much that Tim wonders sometimes if there’s room left for him in Brian’s life at all.

But every once in a while Brian gives him that tender smile, and even if it’s starting to pale in comparison to the one he gives to Roger these days it still manages to make something inside Tim melt - like a bitter heart softening just for a moment, or wax wings falling to pieces when Icarus flies too close to the sun.  
  


* * *

  
It all comes to a head on Brian’s birthday.

Brian doesn’t usually like to make a fuss about his birthday, but they’re just a month off of recording a few songs in the studio and the party feels as much a celebration of that as anything else. At least that’s what Tim tells himself, because he doesn’t want to think about how Brian refused to let _him_ throw a party last year but accepted _Roger’s_ offer for one this year with very little resistance.

The party has been going on for a few hours now and Brian is properly smashed, like Tim has never seen him before. He suspects that’s Roger’s doing as well, especially since the drummer is fairly drunk himself. Tim watches as Roger catches some pretty blonde bird around the waist and leans down to kiss her, and he rolls his eyes so hard that he almost misses the sight of Brian stumbling out the back door of the house.

Tim goes after him, because Tim will _always_ go after him, and he calls out, “Brimi? You alright?”

The door has barely closed behind Tim before Brian is pushing him up against the wall next to it and leaning down to slot his lips over Tim’s in an awkward, fumbling kiss.

He tastes like the cheap beer he’s been drinking all night and his face is wet with tears and it’s horrible and perfect and all _wrong_ , and Tim never wants it to end as much as he wishes that Brian had never done this in the first place. He puts his hands on Brian’s chest and pushes him back gently, and Brian doesn’t want to move but after a moment he reluctantly lets the kiss be broken.

“Is this because of Roger?” Tim asks even though he already knows the answer and doesn’t want to hear Brian say it.

“It’s not… It’s…” Brian’s breath hitches, and he pleads, “Tim, _please_.”

Tim’s heart is breaking and, god help him, but he almost gives in. He could have this, just for tonight - he could kiss Brian and get him off here in the shadows and have everything he’s ever wanted, but he’d hate himself for it in the morning.

“You’re drunk,” Tim whispers.

“So?”

“So I can’t take advantage of that,” Tim says. Brian sighs and rests his forehead against the top of Tim’s head, his hands still on Tim’s waist and Tim’s palms still flat against Brian’s chest. “If you want this tomorrow, when you’re sober, just… Just come find me then, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.” Brian sighs again and then he’s moving, letting go of Tim and stepping back and Tim wants to grab him, wants to pull him close again and keep him here forever - but then the door opens, and Brian disappears back into the house.

By the time Tim makes it back inside himself, Brian is long gone.  
  


* * *

  
Brian doesn’t come to find him.

Tim tells himself that this was to be expected, but hope is a dangerous thing and when it dies it _hurts_ like nothing else in Tim’s life ever has before.  
  


* * *

  
The song comes to him late one night in August, the lyrics first and bits of music stumbling on after. He scrawls the words down across an illustration that he’s not turning in for his course, just because it’s the closest piece of paper at hand and he needs to get them out _somewhere_ before he loses the thread of this.

 _Here is an old man, who waits by a window  
_ _With cheap plastic roses and memories of people  
_ _Who once might have said they'd be glad to sit with him  
_ _And promised their friendship forever_

Despite what happened on Brian’s birthday their friendship isn’t over, and on the surface it doesn’t seem to have changed much at all. Brian never mentioned what happened between them and Tim didn’t bring it up himself, so they’ve continued on much as they always have over the last five or so years.

But there is a difference now, Tim knows it. The smiles Brian gives him are different, and he doesn’t touch Tim as freely as he did before, and he’s writing more songs with _Roger_ than he is with Tim these days.

 _And what of the man who, because he is lonely  
_ _Is bound to exact his revenge on the people  
_ _Who pay no respect to the fact that he only  
_ _Desires to be wanted by anyone_

He still doesn’t hate Roger but, _god_ , Tim wishes that he did.

Sometimes he wishes that he could hate Brian too, because maybe that would finally be enough to replace the heartache that’s been following him for the last month - but even with how heavy his heart is, Tim doesn’t think he could ever hate Brian May.  
  


* * *

  
They go back into the studio in September, each of them picking one of their own songs to record.

Roger brings out “Blag” a drum-and-guitar driven song that’s hard and fast and unlike anything else Smile performs. He grins as he hammers out the drum part, Tim struggling to keep up on the bass to complete the rest of the rhythm section, and when it comes time for Brian to fill in his guitar solo he brings the studio to the ground with the force of his playing.

The two of them have an energy about them, a drive that Tim thought he once shared… but maybe he doesn’t. He always thought his musical tastes aligned with Brian’s, but if that’s the sort of thing he wants to play then Tim doesn’t know where he’s supposed to fit in with it anymore.

Brian’s song, “Polar Bear”, could not be more different. It’s softer, more delicate, and when Brian asks if it’s alright if he sings some of the lead vocals Tim doesn’t have it in him to push back, even though “Blag” didn’t have much in it for Tim to sing either.

It’s comfortable to share the lead vocals with Brian, but success isn’t built on _comfort_. Tim sees the way that Brian and Roger push and pull each other to be better, the way they combine to become something more than the sum of their parts, and Tim knows that the comfort he’s always shared with Brian can’t compare to that.

And Tim’s song… His song is scrawled over art assignments with the music only half figured out, because normally he’d show it to Brian to have him help hammer out the tune but Tim hasn’t been able to bring himself to do that yet.

So when the record company suggests they record someone else’s song, “April Lady”, Tim agrees. And when Brian asks if he could try singing this one too, Tim agrees to that as well. There’s already so little of him in these tracks - what does it matter if his voice is left out entirely at this point too?  
  


* * *

  
“I’m worried about you,” Brian tells him.

Tim takes another hit off his joint. He shouldn’t be smoking in public but they’ve just pulled the van over so Roger can take a quick piss and Tim isn’t worried about the police stopping by before they get on the road again. Or maybe he just doesn’t _care_ if the police stop by. It’s a little hard to find the boundaries of his apathy, these days.

“Why?” Tim asks. “I’m fine.”

“Well there’s this, for one,” Brian says as he plucks the joint from Tim’s fingers and stubs it out in the ashtray.

“Hey, I wasn’t done with that!”

“That’s my point, though!” Brian says, frustration seeping through to color his tone. “You’re _never_ done with that, these days. And if you’re not smoking, you’re drinking, and if you’re not drinking, you’re passed out somewhere, and-”

“And what I do isn’t any of your damn business,” Tim snaps.

Brian bristles. “I’m your friend, Tim. It’s my business because I fucking care about you!”

Tim deflates and sags back in his seat. “Yeah,” he says, and it comes out sounding more tired than angry now. “You are my _friend_ , aren’t you?”

Brian’s breath hitches, just like it did on _that_ night, and Tim braces himself against the stab of hurt as Brian starts to say, “Tim, I-”

“Christ, Staffell, would it kill you to wait until we get home before you light up?” Roger complains as he slides back into the driver’s seat.

“Fuck off, Taylor, it was just a few hits,” Tim says, rolling his eyes.

Roger laughs as he starts the van, the engine stuttering and finally groaning to life. Brian says nothing, and when they get back home Tim makes a quick escape out to the pub where he goes home with the first girl who glances his way. He doesn’t know her name and he doesn’t stay the night, but for a few hours he has fun and he almost doesn’t think about Brian at all.  
  


* * *

  
Tim announces that he’s leaving Smile in the small practice room at Imperial College where the band had their first rehearsal, and when he walks out Brian follows him.

“Brian, just stop,” Tim says tiredly as he walks across the campus, empty at this late hour. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

“ _Why?_ ” Brian demands, not for the first time. “Tim, for-” He grabs Tim by the arm and spins him around so he has no choice but to face his friend. “For fuck’s sake, _why?_ Just tell me why you’re leaving, _please_.”

“Because Smile’s not going anywhere,” Tim tells him.

“Yes, it is!” Brian insists. “We’ve recorded those songs, we’ve had loads of gigs, and-”

“And it’s still not going fucking anywhere!” Tim snaps. “At least, not with me.”

“Well, I don’t want it go anywhere without you!” Brian says. “Tim, we _need_ you-”

Tim laughs, ugly and bitter, and says, “You’ve never fucking needed me, Brian, so don’t start now.”

Brian is silent for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as he struggles to come up with something to say in response to that. Eventually he asks, much softer than anything he’s said up to this point, “Tim, what are you talking about?”

Tim sighs and tilts his head back, looking up at the dark sky overhead. How long has it been since Brian and him talked about their shared love for astronomy? How long has it been since they looked up at the stars together and wondered about the worlds that could exist out there, beyond their sight and knowledge?

How long has it been since they’ve had a moment together with just the two of them, just like it used to be before?

“D’you know, I think tonight is the first time you’ve ever come after me,” he says quietly.

“What are you talking about?” Brian asks again, more urgent this time.

“It’s always been me chasing after you, you know,” Tim says. “Joining 1984 to play with you, and leaving to follow you to London. Forming Smile just to hear you play again. Waiting for you to come back from Tenerife-”

“If this is about my doctorate, I’ll be done with my research soon-”

“This isn’t about your research,” Tim says as he looks back down at him. There’s a look of heartbreaking confusion on Brian’s face and Tim wants to kiss it away - but that’s the problem here, isn’t it? That’s not for Tim to do.

It never has been.

“I told you, at your birthday, to come find me the next day,” Tim reminds him. “You didn’t. And I’m tired of waiting to see if you’ll ever show up.”

Understanding blossoms across Brian’s face, followed immediately by the tell-tale guilt that Tim was expecting but that he still hates to see. “Tim, I’m- I’m sorry, I-”

“I know,” Tim says. He does know, and he doesn’t need to hear Brian say it now. “But I can’t stick around and watch you and Roger from the sidelines, or I’ll end up hating you both. And that’s the last thing I want to happen here.”

Tim hadn’t realized how much he was still hoping that Brian would deny the comment about Roger and tell him that he’s got it all wrong until that doesn’t happen. Instead, Brian only says, “I’m sorry,” again and Tim knows that he means it.

Tim exhales a little shakily and runs a hand through his hair. “You know what? So am I.”

Brian nods and slips his hands into his pockets. “Will you at least keep in touch?”

Tim looks up at Brian, with that hopeful expression on his face, and thinks, _You stupid idiot, you still don’t get it, do you?_

And he reaches out and snags the front of Brian’s shirt and pulls him down, and Brian goes willingly, meeting him halfway in a kiss that Tim isn’t _owed_ but that he’s damn sure going to take while he still can. It’s too soft, too chaste, too brief… It’s almost everything Tim’s ever wanted, and nothing he’s ever going to get, but he thinks he’s allowed to make one last mistake where Brian May is concerned.

Tim eventually lets go with a small sigh and takes a step back, and offers Brian a passing ghost of a smile. “If you want to keep in touch,” he tells him, “come find me.”

And then Tim turns and walks away, before Brian can say anything in response.


End file.
